Dangerous Curves
by Raven Dhancer
Summary: Speed hires PIs MacDonald & Greene to find the missing Trixie. Race cars, chimps and zombies, oh my! Speed Racer X Angel. Post NFA.
1. Speed’s Demons

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 1: Speed's Demons**

**by Raven Dhancer**

We all carry the seeds of our destruction within us. Secrets hidden, desires suppressed. Hopes and dreams you find don't quite work out how you thought they would. Then you call me, or my partner. It says Private Detective on the door, but people who want a private detective go to the swank office buildings downtown with a nice view. When bad trouble shows up and you need it to go away for good, you come find us. Especially if you don't care where the trouble goes. Outside my window, well, lets say it's a nice view if you like looking at crap industrial districts.

I don't know what the Mayor had hoped when he decided to have a Grand Prix race in town. I didn't know, and didn't care. Money, girls, gambling, parties, they all come with the package and they're all good for business. Last Saturday, I had stood on my roof and watched them wrestle hay bales and tires barricades into place and paint signs and arrows on the road. It had been getting noisy, and it was going to get worse. The time trials were tomorrow and Friday, and then raceday. Come this Saturday I planned to sit on the roof with an ice chest of beer and watch the cars pull round the hairpin and floor it down the straight. But then again, plans don't always work out.

I was sitting at my desk at McDonald Greene when the guy walked in. Tall, black haired, young, wearing white pants, blue shirt and a cravat. I wondered if I should tell him the Flying Elvises weren't in town today.

"I'm Speed Racer" the guy said. "Someday I'm going to be the best racer ever. I'm in town for the Tulsa Grand Prix and I need some help and you're a great detective, as good a dective as I am a racer so maybe we can help each other!"

You do my job, you can see when people are just mouthing the words. This guy was acting all chipper, but he was sliding down a razor blade of anguish into the salty ocean of despair.

"Take a load off," I gestured to my client chair. It's covered in top grain vinyl, a little cracked; fits in with the faces that walk through my door. You don't come lookin' for a guy like me when life is a flaky crusted cherry pie.

"400 a day plus expenses," I say; there's no use leading him on. Despite Greene's finer impulses, this ain't no charity outfit. Racer didn't even blink. Maybe I should have given him the special rate.

"Whatever it takes. I have to find out what happened to Trixie." Woman troubles, I shoulda known. Half our business is woman troubles. "We were to be married, right here in Tulsa. She has family here. Last time I saw her was after the rehearsal dinner. She kissed me and I haven't seen her since."

"You checked with her folks?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"They said she never came home from the dinner. They haven't seen her since, either. No phone calls or email, either," his voice breaks like a dime store mirror.

"How cold is the trail?" I'm all business but I push the box of kleenex over to him. Greene buys it by the case, the sap.

"It…it was five years ago," Racer finally pulls himself together to answer.

"Why wait so long?"

"I was hurt, bitter, betrayed. I just wanted to forget the shame of waiting for my bride that never came. I left Tulsa, I thought never to return. But now there's a race and I'm back. I couldn't forget her as I followed the circuit around the world and here, here I see her everywhere I go."

"That wound up in her, huh?" I asked with a show of sympathy.

"No," the kid replied, "She has a private helicopter and she shows up at every race." With trembling fingers his gloved hands fumbled pictures out of his wallet. He passed them over to me.

The girl shown in the first few pictures was like a long slow drink of bourbon in the afternoon. the kind of drink that some idiot had stuck sugared melon balls into as some kind of party favors at a pool party. The type of melon with an iridescent party pick through it and a little bow at the top. Damn, I hate those things.

"Sir?" The Jap kid asked, "Sir? Don't you want to look at the rest of them? You're ruining the finish."

I glanced up at the kid, well, maybe not a kid, these Asian types seem to last forever, "Hold your horses, I'm just getting as sense of the girl." He dropped back into abashed silence and I dropped back into perusing the picture.

It showed a slender girl with a bow in her hair and a hopeful look in her eyes. She was flashing a victory sign and standing next to a low-slung white race car of some description. The next few showed her standing next to a helicopter. The next few after that had dates penciled in at the bottom and showed the same helicopter over signs that indicated what even I recognized as race sites all over the world. The girl could not be seen so clearly but the pink of her shirt showed through.

'Wait a minute, pink of her shirt?' I flipped back through the pictures, "Kid, does this chick always wear a pink shirt?"

He stared at me with large shiny brown eyes, like a cow, "You mean Trixie?" He laughed a little uneasily and rubbed the back of his head, "Sure, Trixie always wears pink. That's what she wears."

I got a bit more background out of him, and tossed the photos and info on Lorne's desk after Speed left. Lonely hearts and dumped lovers were his department. Not to mention the pink fixation. I called it a day.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Next morning, I was on my roof, nursing a beer and watching the time trials. I had a great seat, watching the straight leading into the hairpin and the straight coming out toward the Cherokee Expressway. So far a lot of drivers had misjudged the turn and ended up in the hay-bales or the run-off lane. The best so far was a german driver nobody had heard of. Most of the drivers were people nobody had heard of. This was going to be an exhibition race, no championship points, and most of the big teams had sent junior drivers to get them seasoned. From the way they drove they'd been told that they were expendable, the cars weren't.

I watched Speed doing his laps. The kid was a mess; he slowed too early, too late, lost too much speed in the curve. His dad was going to chew his ass off and hand it to him when he got back to the pits. Timing is everything in the race. You floor it down the straight, top out the rev's and hit the brakes at the last moment, drop your speed, turn, and then power out of the turn as you straighten. Some drivers make it look easy. Speed was making it look impossible. Conclusion, he was spooked. Or hung over. Both bad news for a guy going 200 MPH.

My cell rang. It was Lorne.

"Lindsey, enjoying your day off?"

"Hey, Lorne. Lorne? Are you wearing a tie?"

"Ha. I've been doing some checking on racer boy and Barbie doll. You might want to check into this one yourself, babe. Trixie's helicopter is registered to XSH Aviation, but it's a lease -" The Argentinian blew by and I lost most of it, but after he pulled away down the straight, I heard Lorne say an address. He was right.

"You're right. I'm taking this one." I told him, hung up, and dropped the beer back in the cooler.

That address gave me a lot, but mostly a lot more questions. I figured I needed to head down to the pit row and have a word with Pops.

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	2. A Spanner in the Works

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 2: A Spanner in the Works**

**by Raven Dhancer**

From the journal of Trixie Fontaine:

_I saw Speed again today. He looked like the hairball Fate had coughed up and I knew it was my fault but I couldn't go back. Fate had hacked me up, too._

Let us draw a veil over the piteous sight of the feisty brunette weeping into her only confidant, the careful custodian of all her secrets, her diary.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I was right. Racer's old man looked about to pop like a sated tick. Funny, I found out later no one ever called him anything but "Pops". I'd never seen a human that color red, not alive. He bounced up and down, too, as if he contained the larvae of the greater olethreutid moth. If he did, it was already too late for him but that would explain the unnatural color and the steam jetting from his ears and nose. Maybe Racer had hired the right outfit.

Junior didn't seem too fazed, just let the choler wash over him; guess he knew he he'd been driving like a kid on his first trike. I waited off to the side, trying to get a feel for the both of them. You'd be surprised at how often our clients lie to us, not so much when Greene's there, but I wondered the real reason why Racer had waited five years for his answers.

Pops finally ran out of steam and sent Racer off to the showers. I made my approach, asking about his baby, and I didn't mean ascot boy.

"Lindsey Macdonald", I gave him my best warm glow. We'd trained for that back at W&H. Although you get further with a warm smile and the forces of hell at your back than with a warm smile alone, right now, the smile was pretty much all I had. "And this is the Mark 5! This is the thrill of my life."

I babbled on. "I've been following your team for years, but I've never had a chance to see this beauty up close before!" I switched to gush "So, can I ask? I've wondered, oh, how do you deal with the weight? The auto jacks? and the saws?"

Pops beamed. "Well, I've designed this car myself as the designer and the builder as I've made it myself too. The weight, well, it's all too heavy except that I designed a special engine extra light engine and the exhaust to power the extras that I've designed into the car."

"Beautiful" I said, "John Fontaine would have loved this car."

That took him by surprise. He was silent, so I prodded a bit more. "That's how you started out, right? With John Fontaine? Trixie's dad?"

I waited. Still nothing. "He was the money, you were the brains?"

That did it. "John Fontaine was a good friend!" Pops growled. "He wasn't just the money, he was my partner and we built the Go Team together. Side by side. I've never forgotten him."

"Died in a helicopter crash." I thought about those pictures Speed had showed me. Something in the face... "Trixie was the pilot, wasn't she? Fontaine was killed and the pilot barely survived. The reports were that nobody should have. Engine failure?"

"The reports were wrong!" Pops was turning red again. "There was nothing wrong with that engine; I checked it myself. I always did."

"The crash was a terrible accident. We were all devastated, Speed, Rex, my wife and I. We did all we could, we never left Trixie's hospital room until she was well."

I only had one more question. "And what happened to his half of the company?" But I never heard the answer. Sparky hit me with a wrench.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Consciousness drifts in and out like a curtain at an open farmhouse window.

One of those white lace curtains like your grandmother used to bleach and hang up in the back garden. You had to be real careful with playing ball back there those days because if you got the curtains dirty she'd come after you with a wrench, a 2" Drop Forged King Dick wrench, out of England. Just like the one gleaming in the oily gloom next to my right shoulder.

I reached over to pick it up and simultaneously found that my left arm had no room to move past my chest and the exhaust system of the car that was sitting above and that I had the mother of all headaches. Darkness and I were friends for a while...I should never have told Timmy I could fit in the chicken coop, Grandma was going to be pissed. I could hear her deep gravely tones now.

"We haven't seen anyone here mister Inspector Detector, are you sure you understood everything Chim-chim had to say? Besides, we all know he's back home in Japan."

"He left a phone massage for me Pops, he's stateside."

"Ya don't say."

"I do say, those sons of yours travel around a lot Pops. We've started wondering why all these bizarre mysteries of plots to take over the world racing circuit only raise their ugly heads when those sons of yours show up."

The basement at Grandma's house sure was crowded, a helicopter flew across my mind. The voices were receding, a period of undefined time later the dolly I was on was being moved.

"Did you have to hit him with the 2" wrench, Sparky? I think a 1 and a half would've done the trick nicely."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

From Rex Racer's memoirs, "Rx: Prescription for Danger!":

There was no reason for a racer of X's stature to drive in the Tulsa Grand Prix but I was still Rex Racer, Speed's older brother, and I had to look out for him. Trixie wanted to come, too. She just wasn't able to fully cut the threads binding her to her old life, the life that would have lead to her being Mrs. Speed Racer. I understood her reasons for leaving my brother but I disagreed with them. If she had come clean, that monster Chim-Chim would not still be welcome into the bosom of my family, a place that I could never return to until I became the greatest racer in the world.

I followed Speed the day he hired McDonald Greene. I had one of my Interpol pals run a check on the partners; both had been poobahs at the LA office of Wolfram and Hart, though not at the same time. Greene didn't even have a law degree, he ran a bar and had an act in Vegas that was the hot ticket for about 15 seconds. Wolfram and Hart had a very bad reputation for getting their clients off regardless of the evidence. So, how did a high-powered attorney and a high-powered whatever end up running a seedy detective agency in the backend of nowhere?

So, I followed MacDonald, saw him interview Pops and saw Sparky clobber him with what looked like 2 inch, maybe a 5 centimeter, monkey wrench. MacDonald dropped like a lead balloon; Sparky must have done this before.

I shadowed Pops and Sparky as they took the poor sapped away and called in an anonymous tip to Inspector Detector.

--- extract ends.

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	3. Rx for Danger!

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 3: Rx for Danger!**

**by Raven Dhancer**

When I woke from Sparky's little love tap, I was lying in a pleasant room, in a bed with clean sheets. Dresser by the window, door looked like it lead to the bathroom. I crossed to a window, and pulled aside the lace curtains dreading what I might see. A pleasant suburban street. I was in the master bedroom of a suburban home. I screamed. Somebody burst in from the hall.

I whirled, knowing it was hopeless, ready to go down fighting, but it was Rex. I calmed down a little.

"Rex! Or do I call you Racer X?", I was babbling again. "I see I'm probably in your very nice house in a suburb somewhere outside of Tulsa and not in a black pit of hell, right? Sorry about the screaming, I make that mistake a lot." Initiative totally lost. I thought about a shower, but in the end just started to get dressed.

Rex wasn't leaving. He had a few questions. He spat out his first in a disgusted tone.

"Is there anybody apart from my thick skulled family who don't know who I am?"

"Hey, sorry" I replied, "but I was a fan way back when I was still at W&H. And, well, the files there are pretty complete. I won more than a few bets with that info." 

Next question was a classic, "Are you sure you should be moving around?"

"I'm fine" I lied, "this sort of thing happens all the time. So maybe you can tell me how I ended up here and why Sparky cracked my head in the first place?"

"I waited until they parked your dolly and then I stole it and its contents. You asked why Sparky attacked you? I'm not sure. Probably he was acting on orders from Spritle ..."

"So-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Since you're not going to rest," he said, "you should get dressed and come down and meet the family."

Just then I started to hear a familiar voice singing in the kitchen. I groaned.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

From the Rex Racer's memoirs "Rx: Prescription for Danger!":

I left Lindsey to clean up and headed downstairs. As I got to the kitchen, Lorne was teaching my eldest kid to sing "Supercalifragilistic". They sang it through together and then Lorne made him sing it to me by himself. He kept laughing during the chorus. He got through it in the end but then Lindsey wandered in and the kid wanted to sing it for him too. I loved that kid, anybody would. I didn't care if I wasn't his father. He was my son and I'd die for him.

Lindsey sat politely while my son sang, but didn't look at him; through the whole song he watched Lorne. I looked at Lorne too.

I had met him as he'd been searching pit row to find Lindsey. He wasn't hard to recognize, and I hadn't acted too surprised. I guess he guessed I had heard about him.

"I'm looking for a guy named Pops." he had said, "He's a chief mechanic around here?"

No wonder he had taken so long to find Lindsey. You should understand that to go down to pit row and look for a guy named Pops, it's like going to Texas and asking for Slim.

"He has a son named Speed?" Lorne added. Well, OK that narrows it down some.

I don't know why I had trusted him. He looked hard and lean, but somehow, you could tell, deep down, he was a total pussy. "You're not looking for Pops or Speed" I told him, "you're looking for Lindsey. And he's in need of a bit of help."

Son #1 finished up and we all applauded like Shriners in Vegas. He blushed and ran off.

Lorne looked at Lindsey. "Later," he said, forstalling something Lindsey wanted to say. "Turn on the TV. You're missing some excitement."

I flipped on the set. It was showing a news conference with a german driver, Vorsicht Suppe. He was answering some reporter in german, which another man was trying to translate. Lorne was still talking to Lindsey.

"While you were taking your nap, this guy was running up a bill and skipping out on the tab." Lorne said. "He lost it at the end of the Cherokee and took his car airborne. No car, no race, but now he's announced he's driving for a new team. You'll love the name. The 'Hell Wheels Team'. How camp is that?"

"Is he OK to drive?" Lindsey asked.

Lorne flipped him a folder. "No. Here's his medical."

"I saw him getting wheeled out" Lorne continued. "He looked pretty bad, and that file..."

"According to this file" Lindsey said, "he's dead."

"Anders als den industriellen Sektor Polens blieb landwirtschaftlicher Sektor groß in den privaten Händen während der Dekaden der kommunistischen Richtlinie. Die meisten ehemaligen Zustandbauernhöfen werden jetzt zu den Landwirtpächtern gemietet." Suppe was saying from the TV. Lindsey said something about fish oil and blood workups. I wasn't really listening. I was going to kick these two out soonest and go down to the hospital. What the hell was going on?

"I know a techo club that sounds promising." Lorne said.

"Yeah, keep an eye on Suppe" Lindsey said.

"You think he'll be there too?" asked Lorne. "You want to come?"

"Can't" said Lindsey. "I'm going to pick up a few things from the office and then I'm going to have a little chat with my new friend Sparky."

--- extract ends. (His kid was the kind anybody would offer a banana to.)

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rex gave me a ride back to the track and my pickup. His eldest seemed like a good kid but homelier than a mud fence. Must've been woozier than I thought, the truck sort of shimmied as I got in. I drove to the office like an old biddy driving to church on Sunday had busted me over the head with her fryin' pan. My head was still pounding and the bed cover flapping like a Saturday night drunk, three sheets to the wind, didn't help; battened it down as soon as I got to the office.

Upstairs, I sprawled on what had once been a sofa until the aspirin and "heal quick" spell I got off a local Creek shaman lessened the throb a mite. Then I took a look in the weapons safe. I'm a firm believer in "two eyes for an eye and maybe a foot, too". A small mace I picked up at a ren faire (don't ask, the case hasn't come to trial, yet) caught my eye. Just the thing. It was a real nice piece with a good balance and those flanges on the head leave some real nice dents.

I found the address Rex had given me, a defunct service station near the track that the Racers were renting for the duration, without any problems. I scoped out the place from my truck. I didn't see the old man or Speed but Sparky had the Mach 5 up a foot or so on the hydraulic jack and was doing something mechanic-like on the bottom of it. Perfect.

"Hey, hand me my 2 inch King Dick will ya'?" he called from under the car.

I guess he thought I was someone else. "Sure thing," I said as I started lowering the car. He thought real quick and tried to get out but I had him pinned at the hips. Sparky gave a look that said he thought I was bluffing.

I remarked, "Did you know I have an evil hand?" as I moved it toward the lever that would leave Ol' Sparky a raspberry schmear across a concrete bagel.

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	4. Clues and Confession

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 4: Clues and Confession**

**by Raven Dhancer**

This is the boring part of my job, so I'll skip over to Lorne. Here's what he was doing, excerpted from his latest roman-a-clef / pot-boiler. "Everybody had a Solo – A Mac Lind Mystery"

I was hanging out in the club with a buddy, killing time. He was a Marduk-spawn, maundering on about his usual obsession, middle-east politics. He had thought things were looking up, had hoped his people could maybe gain some power. Now he was depressed again and all the guys who had promised him big time were gone. I told him what I always do, "Don't mess with these guys. They're sharks and you're trying to be their chum". He never listens. I sat and watched the club floor, nodding from time to time so my friend didn't realize I was ignoring him.

I had been there a couple of hours when Vorsicht showed. He sauntered in, a vision in leather, accompanied by the translator from the news conference, some other guy I didn't know and a woman I knew well. The pink would have been enough if I didn't. The four took a table across from me, too far away to hear.

I managed to pass by their table on the way to the bar. Bourbon straight and a Singapore Sling for my bud. I filched a few ice cubes from his drink and dropped them in mine and waited for them to melt. You can't order bourbon and rocks in a place like this; you just get rocks. The guy I didn't know had been speaking spanish, or portuguese maybe. I sat and watched them talk. It was kind of fun, like watching a three way tennis match. Trixie would talk to the translator and the translator would talk to the drivers, then a driver would say something and the translator would lean over to repeat it back to Trixie and the other driver. Poor guy was looked like his neck was going to twist off, and then the drivers wandered off to the can and everyone took a break.

After a while the drivers came back, but they only said a couple of words and the party headed for the door. I said bye to my friend and fell in behind, left and wandered down to the cab stand; I saw a driver I knew and went over to say hi. The foursome stood waiting for the valet driver to fetch the cars, chatting quietly.

I watched them for a bit and realized Trixie and the translator weren't talking. The drivers were each babbling away to each other. So had the brazilian suddenly learned german in the can? Trixie left in a pink convertible, yakking on a Pink RAZR. I got the number, that would make Speed happy. The drivers and the translator left in a black SUV. I got that number too. I headed back inside.

The bathroom was dark and damp, but I didn't smell any blood. A door was broken, but it looked old. I started to dig in the trash can, stopped, pulled the whole thing into a stall and locked the door. With a bit of privacy I started to search the damn thing in earnest. Disgusting? Maybe, but I see worse things when people sing. I found the electric cord about halfway down, the knot still in. I wondered what the brazilian's neck looked like.

-- excerpt ends.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It was during my search of the bathroom that I found my first clue. It was sitting next to a used prophylactic. The prophylactic had been there for months but my clue hadn't. I could tell, no hairs were adhering to the kitchen grease and there were none of those dried-on blue streaks that you get from custodial-grade cleansers.

I knew the bathroom had been cleaned in the not too distant past because the place had been closed down briefly by the board of health. I looked around as I thought that; you could not tell all that clearly as demons tend to leave a lot of hair but I was pretty sure.

Fished around in my breast pocket and came up with a pencil I had stolen from the liquor store guy and used the end of it to lift up my find.

It was a rather chipped and greasy old kitchen timer in the shape of a coffee cup complete with cloudy Lucite coffee in it. It had the logo of Joe's Diner on the front. It was a Joe's Diner Timer. I had my clue and was ready to roll just after I hit the head.

The old "Evil Hand" never fails. Sparky confessed like it was his last hope of redemption before the Rapture but there wasn't much to it. His dear sister told him I was a threat and handed him the blunt instrument. I left him on ice while I searched the rest of the garage.

I took the timer back to Sparky. "What do you know about Joe's Diner?"

But Sparky wasn't attending. I followed his line of vision. No wonder he was distracted. A chimpanzee, no that was Rex's kid, Chum, and another boy, both dressed in white tie and wearing comic opera beards, were sneaking up on me. Well, sneaking if you ignore they were in plain view and taking exaggerated, silent movie-esque steps. I wondered what the hell those brats had been watching and where they had come from.

"K-k-keep him away from me!" gibbered Sparky.

"Whatcha doin', Mister?" asked Chum.

"Yeah, Mister, whatcha doin'?" asked the boy next to him. "Why's that man tied up?"

"He's a very bad man," I said. 

"What'd he do?" asked Chum going over to peer more closely at Sparky, mustache askew.

Sparky shrank back, "No! no!" His eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted. Ol' Sparky had such tiny cojones he made eunuchs look macho.

"He whacked me on the head with a wrench. Who's your friend?" I nodded at the other brat.

Smile lighting his homely face, Chum explained, "He's not my friend, silly. He's Spud, my twin brother."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Another excerpt from the Rex Racer's memoirs "Rx: Prescription for Danger!":

At the hospital, the front desk was no help. Yes, Suppe had been checked in. No, he wasn't here now. Yes, he'd been released. No, they wouldn't tell me anymore.

I had better luck with an off duty nurse I found at the curb, waiting for her bus. She looked like she had had a long shift, and probably resented the time it was going to take her to get home. She remembered Suppe.

"That was weird." was all she would say at first. I explained I was a fellow driver, and she opened up a bit more. In fact, she got talking quite a bit.

"It was weird." she repeated. "Afterwards they said he was just unconscious, and maybe so. All that safety gear they wear, maybe. But I tell you..."

"Look, about two years ago, we need the roof repaired, right? I was going to hire roofers, when I could save up enough, but no, my sister, she's going to have her husband and his buddies do it. Oh. my. god. Took them all morning to get up there, puts a big hole in and then has lunch. Fine. Then he takes a nap. On the roof, can you believe it? So what happens? Two floors straight down lands on his head in the driveway!"

"That's awful!"

"Yeah, and me with a sheet of plastic for a roof from March till May. Do you know how much it rains around here from March till May? And my sister, well he had insurance, but even after all that she didn't want to hire roofers! I can't wait for you get married again, I told her! I want my bedroom back! So anyway, Suppe was dead."

I didn't follow and said so.

"My brother-in-law was dead when he hit the ground and he didn't look half as bad as Suppe." She explained. "And then... ping."

"Ping?"

"Ping. They said he was asleep."

"Was he?"

"No. Pay attention! He was dead. I see dead people all the time. Sometimes, like if they don't want to make a fuss on the scene, so the corpse gets a nice ride in the ambulance with all the pretty lights flashing and then he 'dies' at the hospital. That's what I thought when I saw him, but they put him an alcove and drew the curtain and then … ping."

"Why ping?"

"There was a ping. Ping and then he's up and walking and talking. And talking and talking, wouldn't shut up!"

"The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised?"

"Didn't sound like no trumpet. Sounded more like … an egg timer?"

"Weird".

-- excerpt ends

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	5. Messy Mayhem!

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 5: Messy Mayhem!**

**by Raven Dhancer**

Exhibit J: Chim-Chim's Diary, excerpted:

I have heard from my agents in Tulsa. Soon my plans will come to fruition and I can, at last, wreak my terrible revenge on all those who have so mistreated me over the years. The pain, humiliation, all will be repaid, in full, and with interest, and include additional charges for late payment, excess weight and insufficient funds! Bwa-ha-ha!

Oh, fortunate am I, although I lack a power of speech, to have access to the modern wonder, the internet! A truly munificent gift, I can live as a human, although in a necessary seclusion. As long as I limit my communication to the electronic frontier, I preserve my true "nature" (Ha-Ha!) and appear to the world of men as their equal, indeed many regard me as their superior! An illusion but one that serves to compensate for the injustice the world has wrought. To judge other creatures by a biased measure that these creatures have themselves invented? What justice is that? And if by that measure I surpass them? Too sweet indeed!

My cat Evil rubs against my legs as I write. How strange it is that she, like me, possesses needs and longings, thoughts, perhaps plans and schemes but cannot communicate them. For this and merely this, is she called, as am I, a "dumb animal"! She even makes sounds, in imitation of the very sounds I make. An unnatural thing, a foolish thing, for a cat to do but something she has learned. And she does communicate after a fashion, thus proving herself not so very dumb after all!

An intriguing thought has occurred to me that sparks my interest and may bring me amusement. Perhaps my cat Evil may also possess hidden depths as do I? If equipped with the appropriate technology, would she too be able to negotiate the world of men? Perhaps I could serve as a "modern Prometheus" for my lovely feline companion! I shall construct her a simulacrum, human in form, such as can be manipulated by her paws, coupled with the cerebral induction control circuits that have proven so useful to me. Indeed, if I am swift, perhaps she can be of use to me in Tulsa? I tire of Spritle and his cartoonish ineptitude. I shall commence work immediately following lunch! (I greatly hope we are done with bananas for a while, they are far out of season and lack flavor.)

-- excerpt ends.

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Back at the garage, Sparky was pretty much wrung dry. I only had one last thing to ask, something I had nearly forgotten about.

"OK, Sparky" I said, "what happened to John Fontaine's half of the company?"

Sparky froze, but didn't answer. Just then there was a weird sort of rubbing whooshing sound behind me. This was followed by a whole sound-effects lab of noise, a clang and a clatter as a wrench hit the concrete and rebounded past my leg, a stream of curses and a crash as a rack of tools was knocked over. I stayed where I was, but trained my detective senses. A weird feeling crept over me, as if I could see into the workings of the universe. I felt certain that, had I turned around, I would have seen some luckless gunsel who had just been about to clout me, but who had been restrained by a chimp and a six-year-old dropping a tire over him. Soon, I knew, Chum-chum would hit the poor sap with a length of 1-by-6. In fact, …3...2...1...Thunk! Thud!

Memories of an old W&H drill sounded in my brain. 'I had been in the presence of the children all night and at no time did I see them strike the plantiff.' Good times.

"Well, Sparky?"

"What was the question again?"

"Who. Owns. John. Fontaine's. Shares." I said.

"Oh yeah," said Sparky, "Well sir, I guess you're looking at him. Me and Trixie that is."

"You're probably a dead man then." I told him. "Who's the guy in the tire?"

"I'm what? That's Spritle. What do you mean? Hey!"

As I straightened and turned, I stuck my hand in my coat pocket and got the brass knuckles seated in place. Spritle was starting to revive. Two strides to close the distance, I started with a kick to the head and dropped a fist into his solar plexus with my weight behind it. He rolled into a ball like a boiled shrimp.

"Lindsey, what the fuck you doing?" asked Lorne from the doorway.

"Lorne," I said over my shoulder, "this ain't one of your stories." I hauled Spritle up and laid him out again. "It's one of mine."

"Ittle-lay itchers-pay ave-hay ig-bay eyes-way," Lorne said, slashing a green finger across his throat and pointing at the kids.

My Ano-Movic is more current than my pig Latin so it takes a bit for me to parse that but the horrified faces on Chum and Spud; faces too innocent to learn about the real world, at least from me, it 'd be like kicking a dying dog; clue me in. Maybe, just maybe, I should hold off on beating the crap out of the last and least of the Racers until Lorne can get them back to their Pa. Damn.

Speak of the devil and he appears. You'd a thunk I'd learned my lesson at W&H. Racer X, otherwise known as Speed's brother Rex, disowned for some half-assed reason, appeared at the garage door.

The boys shimmied up him like monkeys. Chum had a slight edge. Racer must have been in really good shape because the weight of the brats didn't make him waver at all.

"Dad! We saved Mr. MacDonald from that man. He had a gun! But then Mr. MacDonald started to beat that man up!" they prattled.

Racer nodded put the boys down and said calmly, "It's all right. I'll take care of it." He walked over to Ol' Sparky, kids trailing behind like puppies, pulled out a 45 and plugged Fontaine right between the eyes, twice. Whatever it was Sparky kept stored in skull exploded out the back of his head like icky red and gray champagne.

I froze and I guess Lorne did too because we didn't stop Racer from turning to Spritle and giving his baby brother the double tap.

The spell broke. We all reacted at once. Chum yelled "You're not dad!" and sprung at the guy's neck. Spud didn't say anything but hit the guy a good blow at the knees. The gun went spinning and Lorne dived after it. No good. The guy shook free, ran across my floor, under a tool rack and then attacked me. It was like it pounced on my face. Like a cat. The lights went out and when I got up again, he was already gone. I-I think it went out a window. Like a cat...

"Lorne, check out Spritle and I'll..." I looked at the sad wreckage leaning against the car. There was a spreading pool of ... well, it should have been blood, but was, pretty damn obviously ... brake fluid? And the small chunks of grey matter looked a hell of a lot like lub grease. Ok.

I did a bit more looking and then wandered over to Lorne. "Hey, how's it going?"

"What? How do you think? This guy's a corpse."

"Oh, really?" I said absent-mindedly, "mine's a cyborg. Tough luck eh?"

"What? Look, Lindsey, I'm ready to crawl back into bed with a week's worth of tequila and a month's worth of limes. What the hell is going on?"

"A week's ... all righty. Long and short, Sparky has got more metal parts than the Mach V. I guess you could say, for Sparky here, the worst has already happened. And it's got to be Pops who built those parts. Lucky bastard, those shots took off a lot of computer hardware, and blew his hydralics - look you can even see fluid on the ceiling! What's the psi he's using? Got to be 500 at least! Pops is nuts! - sorry, he'll probably be OK. If we can find Pops soon, that is. And Spritle?"

"Two shots." Lorne said. "One bounced off a rib, spun, hit the liver, rebounded, took out both lungs, entered the neck, exitted the nose, bounced off the lamp (see the shiny bit here?) and buried squarely in the heart. The other missed."

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	6. Watch for Falling Rex!

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 6: Watch for Falling Rex!**

**by Raven Dhancer**

While Lorne called Rex to come and fetch his brats I contacted Pops, "Mr. Racer? Lindsey MacDonald. We've met."

"Call me Pops. Everyone does," he says.

"Mr. Racer, there has been a shooting." I wondered if I could leave it to the TPD to notify him about his son but I didn't want to move the corpse and raise awkward questions. "Spritle is dead. Sparky's lost a lot of oil pressure and some peripherals but you can save him if you hurry."

"Is this your idea of a joke? I ought to pound you." I could picture his face purpling.

"I'm sorry. This is no joke. Spritle Racer is dead and Sparky Fontaine needs immediate maintenance."

"I don't know what you are talking about but I will be right there." He sounded broken.

Talking to Pops had taken longer than I expected. When I put down the phone, Rex was walking into the garage. There was a long cool drink of something icy with him, something that seemed simple but packed a wallop.

So did she. Her one "Don't" two "endanger" and a sweep "my babies!" had me at her feet. 

She kicked me in the ribs until Spud and Chum pulled her off me, "Mom!" Did I mention she was wearing steeled capped cowboy boots? "We had the best time with Mr. MacDonald. Until this bad man came in who looked like Dad but he was really scary."

If I was another kind of man, the kind of man who would never have accepted a job with lawyers from Hell, a man like Lorne, I passed him my handkerchief (I never use kleenex. You don't want to know what a black magician can do with the bodily fluids off a tissue.), my heart would have warmed to see the family reunited.

I winced out, "Trixie Fontaine, I presume."

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"Sparky seems to have gone into shutdown mode. He's breathing, pulse is good, but he's out cold. Pops is coming; I ain't got a clue where he is."

"If I was him, I'd be in a bar." Lorne said flatly. "If I was me, come to that. Somebody's got to get the kids home but what about ol'Spritle? We can't leave him here. And I'm not feeling so sure about Rex being innocent in the shooting."

As it happened, Rex had an alibi. Let's get an excerpt from the Rex Racer's memoirs "Rx: Prescription for Danger!":

I had talked with the nurse for a bit longer, but she didn't remember anything more. While I felt I ought to offer to drive her home, I wanted to do some more snooping. I was quite pleased with myself having turned up as much as I had; I was sure I could shake a bit more loose with a bit of prodding. I split the difference and offered the lady cab-fare, which she accepted with a gracious manner. Then she got on the bus. She waved to me after she had settled in a seat.

The road past the hospital was really just a bit of driveway leading to a loop-back. The bus pulled away, passed around the loop and as it came back past, I stepped in front of it.

When I came to, I was in the emergency room. I was in an alcove having already been admitted. I must have been unconscious for at least three hours!

The nurse from the curb poked her head through the curtains "Are you decent? Not that I care."

She had given me her name, Margaret Something. I thought I wasn't going to be much of a detective if I couldn't remember names. I lay back. "Why are you here? Did you stay to keep an eye on me?"

"Hey, you're a grown guy. If you want to throw yourself under buses, it's just more work for me. No, they had to call the cops and get witnesses. The driver felt awful; he wasn't watching where he was going. He saw somebody running to catch him at the corner so he floored it. You went flying!" She laughed. "You seem to be OK though, just knocked silly. You got a pretty thick skull. Plus you landed on the guy in the next bed. He seems OK too. He was yammering like the dead german when they brought him in; that's usually a good sign."

"He's quiet now."

"He's off getting tests. He seemed to know you. Um, are you gay?"

"Um, no?" I didn't know what to say. "Whose the guy?"

"Speed Racer! That's his real name! It's on his license and everything! Anyway he kept calling you racer-ex so I was wondering, I've seen that movie. They were sheepherders, why do people keep calling them cowboys or something?"

"He's not my ex, he-"

"It was so sad. The two guys loved each other but they could never be together, it was just like Romeo and Mercutio."

"He's not gay either."

"Yeah, well, I was wondering after his girlfriend showed up, but you know…"

"Who's his girlfriend?"

"Another driver, I think, somebody calling herself Felicia Dangerous" She said it with the sort of la-di-la tone meaning she thought it was not the name Felicia's mother had used calling her in to dinner. "She left a while ago."

"And..." she continued, "I'm out of here too, finally. A friend's running me home, but I just wanted to say goodbye. Goodbye!"

"Bye, Margaret." I lay back.

Some time passed. I must have dozed a bit, because when I opened my eyes again, Trixie was standing over me. Trixie, my "wife" and the mother of "my" kids.

"Rex, you fool." she said softly, "what were you thinking?"

"I wanted to get knocked down by the bus," I said, "just a scrape to give me a chance to look around. Turns out those buses can pack quite a punch. Look Trixie, there's something going on, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

"You ... fathead!" Trixie's eyes blazed, "You stay out of it!" She softened a bit. "There are things happening, that are going to happen, ... that I'm going to do... I don't want you involved. I don't want my kids involved. Please, Rex, I'm begging you, drop out of this race!"

"I can't do that." I replied. "People are being killed. I'm not walking away."

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_From Speed Racer's personal journal, written on the back of an outdated time trial sheet with an overly short pencil stub and left in a hospital janitor's closet._

I must have been out for a while. I wish I knew what was going on, this afternoon, the first thing I remember is;

"Sir? Sir? Can I get your attention? Do you have anything metallic on?"

"Unuuugh, " I said. I felt as though a thousand motors were revving in my skull and the announcer at the race track was about to disqualify me. "The race!" I attempted to sit up only to feel a hand pressing firmly against my shoulder.

"Oh, Speed." Trixie's voice sounded from somewhere behind me, it hurt too much to turn around though. "He doesn't wear anything like that. Too many accidents to risk it," there was the sound of heels clicking across the floor and she was gone.

I frowned to myself, "Trixie? Trixie is that you?" I opened my eyes and looked around the room. It swum a bit and was very white, the technician seemed to be stuffing something in his pocket. I was in a CAT scan room. That at least was familiar. I have been in a lot of them there was...well...my head still really, really hurts.

"Nobody here but me Bub. You don't wear any neck jewelry, right? No rings or anything?"

"Trixie was here. I must get up!"

The attendant was on me like a shot. "Just lie back Bub. You've been pretty shook up and we need to get a CAT scan done on ya."

"You don't understand!" I exclaimed. "I've got to speak with her!" Which was when he hit me. Damn that glass jaw of mine. Puts me out every time. But why am I locked in a janitor's closet? Something is a-foot and a Racer never gives up. Sure hope the CAT scan came out negative.

_--end of speed's journal._

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

I stared at Rex. "That's your alibi? You got hit by a bus? Seriously?"

"It didn't turn out how I planned, that's true." said Rex stiffly, "Still, Speed remains at the hospital and perhaps he will discover something."

"Just forget it, you're wasting your time, I told you." snapped Trixie, "The kids are going to get hurt! Look what's happened already!" She took on a begging tone. "Just take them home. I'll be along in a while."

Rex looked like he wanted to ask Trixie something then, but he didn't, probably because he already knew the answer. In the end he just nodded and said, "Perhaps you're right. I'll take the kids home."

"And you stay there!" Trixie insisted. Rex just repeated "I'll take the kids home."

He left. Trixie seemed to change. She became less agitated, more cooly angry.

"Alright." she said, "Do you have any idea what to do?"

"Open to suggestions" I said.

"The problem is Spritle. I can get rid of him for you. No questions." she said. The way she said it reminded me of Lilah.

"That's very kind, but unnecessary." I replied lightly. "We're a full service agency; corpse removal is included in the fee." This was a bluff really. It was getting harder and harder to get rid of bodies these days, when most of my old friends wouldn't answer the phone. "If we did let you take him," I asked in a offhand manner, "you would want what in return?"

"Nothing." she replied.

"That's a good price." said Lorne. "Shall I come with you, help carry?" OK, now this suprised me; usually Lorne avoided this stuff.

She nodded. "Better than nothing, I suppose." she said.

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.


	7. Nothing of Importance

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 7: Nothing of Importance**

**by Raven Dhancer**

_Exhibit J: Chim-Chim's Diary, excerpted:_

Nothing of importance happened today.

_--excerpt ends_

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They were gone half an hour when Pops finally showed. He came in with a bag of very unique looking tools. They were a cross between medical and mechanical, as if to work on miniscule cars. We had laid Sparky on a table in the middle of the garage. Pops set to work, cleaning off the fluids and cutting away the torn covering that had looked like skin. A metal surface was revealed, not unlike the casing of a hard drive with a few cables hanging free.

"I can't tell, but I think the brain is undamaged. A concussion certainly, but the fluid systems should be handling it. The biological damage ought to be small, he's in his own life support unit, although that's been damaged but it's still working. I can replace the parts and repair it, although I won't be able to replace his fake face and head cover. That was done by someone else and not me and we don't have spares."

"Need any help?"

"No. I've done this before and I did it by myself and nobody helped me then either. "

"Just trying to polite..." I said. He went back to work. I would have gone outside to smoke and lean coolly against the building. Except (1) I didn't smoke, (2) leaning coolly against the building and not smoking is called loitering, and (3) unfortunately, leaning and playing with a yo-yo just looks silly.

I fired up the small talk. "I'm glad you answered the cell. I wouldn't have known where to find you."

"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have answered the phone." Pops growled, "It was very clever of you to have the phone fool caller-id by putting up another name instead of your name in the caller-id window when you phoned. Don B. Crewl is not your real name?"

I flipped open the phone, looked, and dialed. 

"Lorne," I said when he answered "you've got my phone again. How's it going with the lady?"

"I wondered when you'd notice" he said in that disgustingly cheery tone, "I'll fill you in later. One thing you ought to know though, I think the Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. Saw him earlier. It's all in that tape. Later, babe."

Tape? Meanwhile, Pops seemed to have finished repairs, and was now wrapping a covering around Sparky's head. He turned and glared at me.

"I've replaced his heart. Although it isn't his heart, but the main pump for the mechanical body which I have built. The original is still there but much too damaged and weak, but it keeps the human parts alive to control the exoskeleton. As I said he lives in his own life support system which is also his body. Much like you and I perhaps. But different." 

"So what's with the head?"

"Weight. I had to move the surviving parts around to keep the weight distribution the same in the new body and so I rebuilt the head and put the main hydrolic pump there to compensate for the lightweight metal skull that I put in." He was silent for a while.

"Can we leave him? We need to talk."

"He'll be OK and we can lockup the garage to be sure that the people who want to hurt him are not able to get in. Do you have somewhere you want to go with me?"

"I'm starving. Do you know Joe's Diner?"

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Meanwhile, Lorne was doing whatever the hell it is he does...

Excerpted from "Everybody had a Solo – A Mac Lind Mystery"

It was past midnight when we left the pits. Spritle was lying in the bed of the truck. He was wrapped in tarps and under a cover. We took the on-ramp to Branson and headed out of Tulsa.

"Hey, I know some people in Branson" I joked, but Trixie was in a bad mood and said nothing, just gripped the wheel.

We stopped for gas at the oasis. "We're by an outer pump, the cameras won't see us. Pay cash." she told me. The pump was pre-pay. I went inside.

It was one of those all-in-one stores that sold everything including booze. I got a short stack of plastic cups. I paid for ten dollars of gas, the cups and bought a pint of Wild Turkey from the rack behind the counter. On the way out, I stopped and filled a cup with ice from the drinks machine, big cubes. The guy at the register gave me a look like I was stealing the ice, but then he just shrugged and went back to playing Sudoku.

After we got back on the highway, I put the cup of ice in the cup holder, and made myself a bourbon and rocks. "You want a drink?" I asked Trixie. She shrugged. I passed her mine and made another.

"You don't seem too sad about Spritle", I said.

She took a sip of her drink and stared ahead, gripping the wheel. I was thinking she wasn't going to talk at all, but then she said, "He got mean." and took another sip.

"He used to be cute." she continued, "But I think he was always mean. He was adopted at the same time as Chim-chim, I know, but that's all I know about his past. Chim-chim was his best friend, and that was strange. Chimpanzee's are dangerous, but he never hurt Spritle."

She was silent for a while. "Spritle use to have this laugh, you know? 'Hee-hee-hee' but with no joy in it. He'd do it after he hit someone. Like he was saying I'm in pain, and now you are too. It was scary. Then he grew up. He got big, really big and hard and he didn't giggle after he hit people, he just hit them."

"What about Chim-chim?"

"Chim-chim was still his friend, I think, but I don't know if they were in touch. He's gone to Japan. He's taken some of the Racer inventions and is trying to do ... something. I don't know what."

My cell rang, it was the client. "One thing you ought to know," I told him, "The Hell Wheels club has hired another driver. A brazilian, I think. It's in the report."

I thought Trixie looked a little pale. Maybe I was imagining it.

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Speed's Journal, apparently written the back of a on a CAT-Scan report. (From the kind donation of the International Racing Car Driver's CAT-Scan Preservation Collection.)

I'm starting to enjoy this journal writing. It gives me something to do when I'm locked up. Although I'm not locked up now, but if I was I'd be able to write in my journal. Right now I'm just writing because I don't have anything else to do. I haven't tried the door. I could be locked in. Can I be locked in if I haven't tried the door?

I just tried the door. I'm not locked in.

It's just starting to come back to me. I was going to see about Mr. Suppe, but when I got to the hospital, there was an accident and then they made me come in to check me. Felicia was there too and introduced herself. She's nice. She wears a lot of leather. I don't mean she's fat, she's real skinny, but she's pretty tall so she maybe does need a lot of leather, because all her clothes are made of it. That's what I meant. Although those clothes were pretty tight, so I guess she really uses as little leather as possible.

She had introduced herself as Felicia Dangerous and asked me how I felt.

"I'm looking forward to racing with you." she said, "You're the reason I became a racer!"

I thanked her.

"You're sure you're OK?" she had asked. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you. Where is Sparky?"

I told her that he was probably back at the garage, retuning the Mach 5.

"Thanks!" she said, "See you later." and then she gave me the cutest smile.

I didn't see her again until the next time I saw her when she was letting me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia's a very nice girl, although Trixie wouldn't approve. But Trixie's gone again and she didn't get me out of the janitor's closet. Felicia said she thought she should stick around and keep an eye on me. She said I keep getting into trouble. Women always seem to like me, I guess I'm lucky. One of the nurses said she thought girls feel safe with me around. She said it was the ascot.

"You keep getting into trouble." Felicia said. "Is that normal?"

I had asked her where she had gone.

"I had something to do," she said, "girl stuff. Then I came back here and nobody knew where you were. And you had gotten yourself locked in a broom closet. Silly!"

"I was knocked out and locked up!" I told her. "I was dismantling my cell phone to use the wire as a lock pick when you showed up."

"But, why didn't you use it as a phone?" she asked.

"You can't use cell phones in a hospital!" I said. "There are signs all over telling you not to!"

"You're silly!"

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Excerpted from "Everybody had a Solo – A Mac Lind Mystery"

"You thought nobody would see?" I asked her. "You're getting all wound up. Don't be. I wasn't hired to do anything about that little game."

We drove a while in silence.

"Besides, who would believe it?" I countered, "There's no evidence. A guy walks into the can, a guy walks out. An electric cord in a trash can. What's all that? Nothing."

"Don't tell Speed I was there." she said.

"You're not in the report." I told her. "The copy I'm giving Speed, anyway."

"What do you want? Is this why you came?"

"I don't want a damn thing." I told her truthfully. "I just want see where the bodies are buried."

We drove in silence. After a while I pretended to sleep. We left the highway and went down a series of smaller and smaller roads, until she pulled into a driveway. There was a gate and a big bald guy with a heavy coat standing with his arms crossed. He must have come out when he heard us drive up, but I'd have liked to think of him standing there his whole shift in that BS position. We probably made his night. Did he practice looking tough in the mirror?

I leaned out and yelled at him "Hey, Rappaport! You shaved your head!" Trixie glared at me.

"I'm not Rappaport!" he yelled back. I love that gag, but the guy didn't seem in the mood, so I let it drop.

Trixie slid out and walked up to the guy. They spoke briefly, too low to hear, then he opened the gate. She got back in the truck and we drove in. Trixie and me and Spritle. We left Spritle at a shed at the back and drove away; I waved to steroid boy as we headed back to Tulsa. I dropped Trixie back at the hospital and she got in her convertible and drove off. She didn't say good bye, or see you later.

I love this old truck. I've had it since I was a kid. It's old of those old Ford pick-ups, big and squarish with great flaring fenders, all steel and empty space, and you can stick any old thing in there. GPS, telemetry, bunch of other toys, all stuck in a rusty old truck nobody would look at twice. Speed ain't the only guy with buttons on his steering wheel. Did I mention the directional mics? Hit the old replay button...

"Hey Trixie, Boss didn't say you'd be the one bringing the stiff in." says the guy at the gate, sounding surprised. "Who's your friend?"

"Shut up." she says flatly."I'm here. Keep it on ice 'till the boss decides what to do."

"I know," the guy says, "Put him back by the freezer, OK? I'll move it after you go."

"Do it quick. He's been too long out already."

**TBC**

**Author's Note:**

As a curiosity, here is an e-mail exchange between Lorne and Lindsey during the writing of "Everybody Had a Solo". Reproduced here with the permission of the Mac Lind Project, currently housed at the U of O at T.

From: Greene, Lorne  
To: MacDonald, Lindsey  
Subject: Fight scene in chapter 5

How's this sound?

"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I whirled, keeping low and dove forward as the wrench whistled over my head. I tackled the guy and we rolled over and over in the dirt and grease of the garage floor, struggling for a grip on each other's neck. I had my left hand around his throat when I got my right into my pocket and grabbed the brass knuckles. One driving blow against his chin laid him out."

From: MacDonald, Lindsey  
To: Greene, Lorne  
Subject: Re: Fight scene in chapter 5

Rolling and struggling? Once again, you've got me fighting like a pussy. Why not just say what happened?

From: Greene, Lorne  
To: MacDonald, Lindsey  
Subject: Diva

Look, Mac Lind isn't you, he's a combination of both of us. Besides, we decided to keep the kids out of it, so who drops a tire over him and whacks him on the noggin with a board?

From: MacDonald, Lindsey  
To: Greene, Lorne  
Subject: Look who's talking...

Well, if he's going to fight like you, why not have him stand in a corner and scream? Maybe we should go back to Mac being knocked unconcious again?

From: Greene, Lorne  
To: MacDonald, Lindsey  
Subject: Re: Look who's talking...

I keep telling you babe, every whack on the head is money in the bank. Readers love that stuff. I'll see what I can do...

From: Greene, Lorne  
To: MacDonald, Lindsey  
Subject: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again

"I saw a flicker, a reflection in the metal of the car. I started to turn as the wrench whistled in. The shots rang out as I lost conciousness..."

"I came to in a pool of blood. Not mine. It belonged to the guy next to me. He was dead. I looked at Sparky. He looked bad."

From: MacDonald, Lindsey  
To: Greene, Lorne  
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again

Fine. Kinda short, ain't it?

From: Greene, Lorne  
To: MacDonald, Lindsey  
Subject: Re: Fight Scene Chapter 5 Again

Not a prob. I'll just pad out the drive-and-dump a bit more.

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.

**24-29**


	8. Diners and Data Miners

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 8: Diners and Data Miners**

**by Raven Dhancer**

I had had a hunch, a feeling that Pops was mixed up in this. His reaction showed me I was wrong, just a blank stare and a shrug. Now I had a problem. Even before all this, I had heard of Joe's Diner. Joe had won an award from a magazine a year back for the least interesting name of a restaurant in Tulsa. (This year it had gone to a bar called "Stop and Drink". The owners had taken it with ill humor, objecting that they had been being only amusingly post-modern.) Sadly, Joe hadn't been able to accept his award in person. He had been out of town accepting an award for serving the worst food in Oklahoma. You pay for mistakes in this game, and I was now going to have to risk a nasty case of dysentery.

The place wasn't far. The pits had been put on some open land that had been warehouses and might be condo's next month and Joe's was just around the corner. It was the sort of place that ends up on odd scraps of land. It was pretty empty when we got there. There was a bored waitress and a young guy who was probably a mechanic for one of the teams. The waitress looked too old to interest the guy and too smart to care.

I scanned the menu, trying to find something safe. Ham sandwich? Ham was usually OK, but I thought about the mayo.

"I'll have pie. And a boiled coffee."

"So why did you pick this place?" Pops seemed mystified. "The counters do not appear to me to be very clean." He warily picked up a spoon and inspected it. He had already decided against anything requiring a fork and now seemed to be ruling out soup too.

He looked around. "There are many patriotic signs. Are the health inspectors impressed by such things, I wonder?"

"No, and neither are the cockroaches." I paused. "I'm just pulling at threads" I said. "This place is a thread. There's a connection to the race. Did you hear about Suppe today?"

"I heard" Pops said. "that he had lost his car and found another one. I'm surprised he would be hired to race after crashing and to still be able to race for another team is very strange."

"He might be a good hire" I offered. "He cost his old employer money, but this team hired him anyway. He'd be grateful after that, wouldn't you think? And they might need someone who owed them…but need him for what? That's a thread." Pops shook his head.

"And I'll give you another one. Your friend John is dead and somebody wants to kill Sparky. The helicopter crash was intended to kill Trixie as well. Who's killing the Fontaines? Why? What's the story with Sparky? He didn't get that body with diet and exercise."

Pops thought a while then shrugged "It happened in Jakarta-" he began, but just then there was a noise behind me. "Hey, you!" a slurred voice yelled, "I got a bone to pick with you!"

I looked around. It was Bill Clinton.

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Let's pause and have a bit more from Speed's Journal...

"There was another door next to the closet and Felicia started staring at it. I couldn't see why.

I want to go in." She said out of the corner of her mouth. She didn't take her eyes off the door. She kind of looked like she thought it was up to something.

"It's probably locked." I told her, but I tried the knob and the door opened.

There was a small office there with a few computers and a big printer. A tall skinny guy was seated by one of the computers, chewing on a pen.

"Can I help you?" he asked. "You're probably not supposed to be here."

"Yes we are" Felicia told him, "What are you doing?"

"Me?" he replied, "I'm reinstalling Windows. The database software actually. I think my database has gone screwy."

Felicia said nothing, but the screen flashed and he started clicking a mouse. After a minute he stopped and frowned at the screen. "It's still screwy." he said.

I asked what the database was for and he started to explain.

"Data Mining." he said. "It's really big now, and I thought I'd fool around with the data here and see what I can find. It's really interesting. You see we have tons of data, not just here, but everywhere. Bills and stuff. Cameras too. Did you know that the average citizen of London is on camera 300 times a day? Since 9/11 some towns in America have more cameras than cops. One town has all the cameras feeding into one central database and the cops in police cars can pull up any of it, past and present, right there in the car. And you know what that means?"

I told him I had a camera in the Mach V, but he didn't seem to hear.

"It's overload!" he cried, "unless we can sort through all that, it's a waste! Static! So I'm trying to sort through the Hospital data. I'm checking admission records against results to see if I can predict length of stay and if people will die or not!"

Felicia was staring at him fixedly, although he didn't seem to notice. She spoke to me again out of the corner of her mouth. "I'm going to kill him now."

"Whatever for?" I asked amazedly.

"I want to." she replied. I later found that she said that a lot. Especially with tall thin people. They annoy her.

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The waitress was gaping at us. So was the mechanic. I wondered if he recognized the guy yelling at me.

"Hey Mr. President, you come for some pie?" I asked innocently, "it's pretty good..."

"It's me you son of a bitch! Sparky!"

"Oh, hi Sparky! Nice mask, by the way!"

"Shaddup! First you tell me I'm a dead man and then I get shot! I don't like that! I'm got an idea to make you try it sometime!"

"Sit down." I said. "you'll blow a gasket. Literally. Look, I'm sorry about the head; but mine didn't feel much better." I wasn't going to give this yahoo an inch.

Sparky looked at Pops, hoping for support, but Pops was just sitting there staring at the table. He didn't move, looked like he was waiting for Sparky to shut up and sit down. He shut up and sat down next to Pops.

"Your boss was just telling me about how you got the way you are." I told Sparky. "Stick around, if you don't mind hearing it, I'll buy you a drink later. Do cyborgs drink? Or would that make you extra sparky?"

Sparky stiffened, but said nothing and stayed where he was. Pops gave me an irritated look, but resumed his story.

"We were in Jakarta, as I said. It was the night before the race and we had had much to do to prepare for the next day. It was late and we were just finishing up. Sparky was cleaning the front grill and I was remounting cables under the dash when the sprinkler system went off. I'll never forget the next few minutes, although Sparky doesn't remember. Several systems shorted out and then I heard a sound I'll never forget. The saws in the Mach V activated on their own. The last thing Sparky must have seen with natural eyes were the saws coming at him. He threw himself to the side, but he would have been cut to shreds if I hadn't started ripping out the fuses when the water started pouring in. As it was, I was able to stem the bleeding and get him to a hospital, but he was very near death." He looked at Sparky.

"He was stabilized, but hooked to a room full of machines. He would have spent his life there, but I couldn't see him like that. I built him a car to move around in, then a mobile suit, then the body you see." 

I started to ask where the head had been built, but dropped it. Instead I asked, "So the water shorted out the Mach V systems and set off the saws?"

"Never happen!" Sparky spat. "There's servo's and racks and a whole bunch of equipment to set off."

"All controlled by one button on the dash" I reminded him.

"So the water shorted the button but everything else worked just fine." Sparky sounded like he'd had this argument before and won. "Plus, there is no reason those buttons should short out. Speed leaves the roof open all the damn time. Never had a problem."

I started to say something, but it was too late. I started up and ran to the back. My luck held long enough that I found an empty stall in the bathroom. When I got back, they were gone. I threw down too much money and left.

I wanted to find them. I wanted to shake the truth loose. I wanted to shout that men were dead, that something needed to be put right, that the world couldn't just shrug and hope for it all to be over, because for some people it was. That I might have learned to care, and now couldn't just turn it off.

I went home.

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The rest of Speed's Journal entry for the night...

The computer guy hadn't noticed this. "Anyway" he continued, "I'm getting these weird results. Take this guy. Checked in today. Did a bunch of tests. Walked out."

"So?"

"He shows a high correlation with being dead. I mean, well, I don't know what any of the test results mean, but the system says they don't usually appear with people who walk. Look here." He pointed at the screen.

"What's a 27 mean?" I asked.

"I don't know." he replied, "I'm not a doctor. But 9 times out of 10, it's a dead person. And it used to be 10 out of 10. It was my best indicator. Now it sucks."

I really felt sorry for this guy. "Why not do what Ben Franklin used to do?"

He gave me a look, so I explained. "When Ben Franklin used to have a problem like this, he would make a list with two columns -"

"Pros and Cons, yeah, yeah. Don't see how this is going to help" he said, a little rudely. I drew up the list for him, but he didn't seem very impressed.

"So" he said "on one side we have 'bad test results' and on the other we have what? 'walking around'. "

"Plus" I reminded him "you can put down 'no formaldehyde'. All the dead people I've seen, they were full of formaldehyde. I'm telling you that because you're not a doctor, so you might not know that. That makes it two to one."

"Two to one what?" the guy asked me.

"Two to one he's not dead. That's good isn't it?"

"Why don't you delete all those records?" Felicia asked. I agreed. It sounded like a good idea!

"The records are all screwed up." I said. "I think you should delete them too."

"I don't think I can do that-" he began, but Felicia interrupted him. 

"It's done" she said brightly.

As we were leaving, I told her how impressed I was.

"Oh, you know, that's my job, making things go away. I'm good at that."

"I thought you were a race car driver."

"Oh," she paused and shrugged, "that too. Anything to keep the food in the bowl you know!"

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.

**29-33**


	9. Trials and Time Trials

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 9: Trials and Time Trials**

**by Raven Dhancer**

I felt tired, heavy, covered in a thin film of sweat and soil as I left my car the next morning. I ached and I needed something strong. I went looking for coffee. I found the coffee maker and some coffee that didn't look too bad, and smelled pretty good. I dumped in a extra large amount, turned on the maker and let the coffee run through while I tried to rest in a chair. When the machine started belching and burping I found a mug that looked clean and poured a mug. I sat down and leaned back in a kitchen chair and tried to put the facts of the case in order in my mind.

I was getting to the point of headache when Lorne showed up. He was wearing a dark green jacket and slacks and looked dapper as he always did. He sauntered over to the coffee machine and eyed the pot. He poured himself a cup and sat down. He sipped, made a face and went off to look for the milk.

"Can you please explain why you are in my kitchen?" asked Rex. He was standing in the doorway with the sort of expression that often accompanies thoughts like 'so yesterday wasn't a dream'.

"Rex!" I cried, "have I told you how excellent your coffee is? Mmmm! Goddamn! This is some serious gourmet shit! Usually, me and Lorne would be happy with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice, but he springs this serious GOURMET shit on us! What flavor is this?"

Lorne gave me a look. "I love you, Pumpkin."

"I love you Honey Bunny" I replied. "Honestly," I said to Rex, "I'm here because my kitchen is full of Inspector Detector."

I had gotten home at too late in the morning, and maybe I had been a bit asleep, but I didn't notice anything on the way into the building or anywhere up to the apartment. I hadn't noticed anything until I heard the snoring coming from the couch. I edged carefully into the living room. At first, I couldn't see anything except a huge pair of curling horns poking up from the figure lying there. Then, as I was wondering if I knew the guy, my eyes adjusted to the light and I was able to recognize the international scourge of crime that was Inspector Detector, flat on his back, asleep. He was built like a professional wrestler with the same enormous chest and thin legs that Pops had. That superman had for that matter. What neither had was his beard that rose out of face, bifurcated and reached two curling point like tusks. It jutted into the air, vibrating slightly as he snored.

I left quietly and went back to my car. The inspector hadn't crossed paths with anyone from Wolfram and Hart, as far as I knew, but he had pulled some major criminals in LA. If he was asleep on my couch, I needed to talk to him. But not now. He'd have to wait a bit.

"Also," I continued to Rex, "I think we need to pool our info. I tried to get Speed here too, but he's stuck in the time trials."

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An extract from Speed's journal. (AN: This is the first proper entry known to exist. It was written with pencil in a small black MoleSkine.)

9:00 am I'm really starting to enjoy 'journaling' even though that isn't a real word. I'm waiting to see if I repeat my time trial today.

9:45 am I just saw Felicia. She wanted a kiss for luck. Now she's in her car warming up. I've never seen her race before.

10:00 am Holy Cow! (AN: underlined twice.) Watching her drive, she just sails round the curves. She does things with the car that I've never seen. She just flew through past the pits and I think she's drifting the car in the turns. That shouldn't even be possible!

She's just clinched pole position. I don't think even Racer X or I could do a better time!

11-ish am Back waiting.

Felicia was really pleased. She leaped out of the car at the pits and dashed over to where she could see the scoreboard. After she saw her time her face just light up! "I won! I won! I won! Yea, ME!" She was dancing in circles. I went up to congratulate her.

"You drove really well!" I said. "I hope we race tomorrow. I'm not sure I qualify with my time. Pops will be really sad."

She looked a little concerned then she shrugged. "I'll fix it, silly. Don't you worry!"

She went off, still chanting "Yea, me! Yea, me!" 

I wonder what she meant. There are lots of drivers that haven't gone and there is rain predicted this afternoon. I'm in trouble. I'm already way back in the pack with yesterday's time.  
-- extract ends.

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I gave Lorne and Rex the rundown of what I'd learned from Pops and Sparky and then I put the Joes Diner Timer on the table. Lorne picked it up and fiddled with it. It went 'click-click-click-tink' like someone had hit it had with a spoon.

Rex stiffened. He sat motionless and silent for a few minutes, then rose and went to the freezer. He opened it and started to root around trying to get to something at the back. He returned with a small package wrapped in white butcher's paper.

"Delicia Hamster" he said. "I got home a few months ago and found her passed away on the floor of her cage. I told the kids she escaped." He proceeded to unwrap the package.

"What next?" he asked me. Lorne was looking at me too.

"I am not going to try creating a zombie hamster!" I protested. "Are you insane?"

Lorne shrugged. "Might be worth a try… what have we got to lose?"

"What have - What if it worked? Which it won't, but what if it did?" I snapped. "Then what? Hey kids, we found your pet. Funny thing! It doesn't eat pellets anymore, it eats brains!"

Rex looked hurt.

"Besides" I said "as far as I can tell, that is a grade-A ordinary timer. And I went to the diner last night. I don't think there's anything going on there besides improper food preparation. There's another piece we've missed." Rex and Lorne were still looking at me expectantly.

"Fine!" I said, "Here, look!" I wound up the timer and thunked it back on the table. We sat and watched it in silence while the dial crept round. Eventually it went 'tink'; we looked at the gently thawing hamster. It was still dead.

We hashed a few more things out. Rex told his tale, and Lorne told bits of his. Lorne did not mention Trixie at all. He was in a delicate position. Hell, we all were - Rex was probably clean, I was nearly positive he was clean, but even then I figured if he knew what Trixie was doing, he might turn. Maybe I should trust people more. Hell, if I knew what Trixie was doing. I was going to have to get the details out of Lorne and then I was going to have to get the details out of Trixie, and then I was what? 

We didn't seem to be getting anywhere here. Rex put Delicia back in the freezer and Lorne and I headed out. I was going to see some people, first of all, Speed.

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From Exhibit J -- the Diaries of Chim-Chim

My agents in Tulsa have contacted me again. I cannot believe the news. The one thing I thought would never happen, the fatal flaw in my perfect plan, Speed is almost certain to be dropped from the race. Steps must be taken, whatever the cost.

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.

**33-36**


	10. They All Seem Fine Now

**Disclaimer: _Speed Racer_ and _Angel_ are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.**

**Chapter 10: They All Seem Fine Now**

**by Raven Dhancer**

We left the truck at Rex's and Lorne drove me down to see Speed, giving me the complete rundown of what had happened last night as he drove.

I was silent for most of the trip, still trying to puzzle through the events and facts and theories. I was still nowhere. Lorne dropped me at the track and headed out. I had asked him to see if he could get the rest of the files about the case from the office. Inspector Detector was probably watching, but I figured, I hoped, we might get lucky.

I found Speed in the stands, watching. He seemed completely distracted, worried, unable to concentrate on me. I wasn't able to get much out of him. He gave me a brief account of what had happened at the Hospital. I thought about asking him if he knew the penalties for computer tampering, but then again nobody could look at that open face and think he was capable of a crime, especially one that might require more brains than what God gave a stump.

Lorne picked me up a bit later. He had a bit of luck and had rounded up the files without trouble. We switched over and got the truck. I drove and we headed out of Tulsa, following the route in the GPS that Trixie had laid down last night. The town fell away, then the suburbs, then we were out in farmland and dry scrub heading north east. We went from three lanes to two lanes to single lane divided highway.

"OK, Lindsey," said Lorne "what the hell are we doing? Last I heard, we were hired to find out why Trixie dumped Speed. Seems like she dumped Speed because she met Rex."

"Oh yeah" I replied "she's so happy too. And Rex? Rex is a barrel of laughs, so happy you want to slap him. And so loving!" There was silence. "She ran away; she wasn't running to anybody."

"OK" said Lorne, "away from what?"

"Who's Chum's dad?" I countered.

"Not Rex." he said, "and not Speed." Lorne hesitated. "He's not human. Not completely. I dunno, I think I'm losing my touch. I can't read him. Not well. Nothing makes much sense."

"When we started this case" I said a bit abstractly "I thought this was a bride with cold feet, or some love triangle, but then you found that address. It's a company Wolfram and Hart used. Maybe they were looking for work, now that W&H is off its stride, but more likely they were still under contract. That made me think money was what was moving things."

I paused and started again. "I had followed the Go Team from way back, and I never liked the way Fontaine died."

"So you looked into it? What did W&H know?" Lorne asked.

"It wasn't anything to do with us. I checked. I couldn't believe it, it stank of our kind of thing, but we weren't in it. And then this case and Trixie turns up with W&H changing the oil on her helicopter. So I figured maybe she was getting a bit of help. And maybe she was running from an attempt to kill her? Then why? I figured money. I always assumed money."

"And then you asked around and got rudely interrupted." Lorne said.

"Yeah, and then we find somebody is setting up to fix the race. Unless they just really really want a zombie race team. Zombie races" I stopped, trying to wipe the image from my mind. "We have to stop this, or we are going to have a race nobody will forget in a century."

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An excerpt from Speed's Diary

Mood: Happy!

Great news! I am so happy. Just a little while ago I thought I would not be able to race, but everything has worked out so I can. Although I'm very sorry for the other racers. Felicia "filled me in" on what happened. First, a french team had a terrible accident. Somebody spilled gasoline over all the cars and then somebody else dropped their cigarette and a whole bunch of lit matches. And it all happened when nobody was around, so the fire got way out of control. Then two teams got eliminated for not having the correct exhaust equipment. Apparently, one team tried to enter without any, and then another team tried to enter with extra equipment installed backwards! That's the sort of thing you have to be very careful about! Lots of people get in trouble over that - I'm really glad I have Pops and Sparky around to take care of that stuff for me. You have to get it exactly right, or you can get into big trouble. Anyway, now I can redo the time trials. Felicia says she's sure I'll do just great! I'm sure I'll do great too. I mean I'm sure that I'll do great and Felicia thinks I'll do great as well as I think. Though not as well as she did.

A lot of people have been shot, but they all seem fine now.

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"So you said 'screw the case' and decided to charge off after the honor of who exactly?" asked Lorne. "The Tulsa Grand Prix Racing establishment? Which until recently consisted of two go-cart tracks and a mini-putt course?"

"OK, maybe nobody's paying us to do anything about it. This is my damn town and I'm damned if I'm gonna sit around and watch it get destroyed." My hands tightened on the wheel. "Fuck this! It's not some damn little game. We're shutting it down at the source. That's plan A and we ain't got a plan B." I paused and tried to calm down.

"Besides, how else do we stop it?" I asked. "We have to find who's behind it. We can't talk, who would believe it? We've got zip evidence. A guy walks into the can, a guy walks out. Plus an electric cord in a trash can. What's all that? Nothing. We got squat is what."

I fell into silence. I looked over at Lorne. He was writing something in a notebook.

"Stop that!" I said.

"Sorry" said Lorne "had to get that down. Anyway this is all the same case. And it isn't about money. What money? I mean, come on, look at the operation. And by that, I mean Sparky. Talk about operations! There's a guy with one huge medical bill and a whole lot of little ones. And these races, they pay by selling endorsements. Mach V is one big nekkid billboard."

"Too true. Just that head on Sparky was a bundle. I've seen that work before, it's from Chin's in Kowloon. They ain't cheap!"

"No money." Lorne said "All I see is rage. Revenge. Something that will crush the Racers and take out god knows who in the process. Grand guignol stuff."

"They say revenge is a dish best served cold."

"Ha!" he said bitterly, "Wish it worked like that. That stuff is radioactive, babe; it never cools down. Maybe the target forgets, but the guy who's behind it? He just gets hotter and hotter. Helicopter crash, OK. Sparky and the diamond edged saws? Youch!"

"OK, fine. And so who?"

"We find out when we get where we're going." Lorne answered, "You know anything about this place?"

"Surely do." I said, "Belongs to a Clarke Spavey. Clarke 'Fishman' Spavey. Interesting choice really. Good guy for zombies, but it's really a sideline. His real interests lie elsewhere."

"And why does he have such a hard-on for the nice people who've hired us?"

"He doesn't of course, he's just hired help. But maybe he'd tell us who hired him if we asked politely."

"And a lawyer never asks a question unless he knows the answer."

"Fat chance. Who's Chum's dad? Who did Trixie run from? Who's the guy who hates the Racers and the Fontaines so much he's spending a fortune - cuz W&H doesn't come cheap - to destroy them? Hates them enough to chop them up alive. And why?"

"He won't talk." Lorne said. "Too much to lose."

"He can talk or not. He's being made unemployed. Then he can talk if he wants to. Then we get Chum's dad."

"Whatever he is..." Lorne said.

There was a long silence. I thought occurred to me.

"Lorne, is there anything like a 27 in Suppe's file" I asked.

There was a pause as Lorne flipped through the onion-skin pages, then he said "Yeah, here's one in, um, looks like 27 centigrade. Body temperature."

It was about one. We drove in silence for a while, then I pulled off the road and stopped on the side a few miles short of the goal. The sky was overcast and there were small scraps of cloud moving quick and low overhead, like they were late to get into position for the rain we had been promised would come later in the day. A bird was making a querying cry, but the wind was making a roar in the trees and the traffic was making a roar on the distant highway, and if he got an answer I didn't hear it. I like this sort of weather, with the storm building and the sky overcast; God can't see me and if He can, He's too busy to care. I reviewed the route on the GPS.

"We park here" I indicated a side road, "and walk in. If we get caught, the truck broke down. We talk our way in, wait till we get a chance, break a lot of stuff and run off."

"The old 'break stuff and run off' plan. Angel would approve." said Lorne. He had his seat reclined back and was lying with his eyes closed.

"Screw you." He opened his eyes and looked at me. I started the car and pulled back onto the road.

"So, Dark Avenger, what are we going to break?" Lorne asked.

"Remember how I said Spavey did zombies as a sideline?" I asked rhetorically. "His main line is artificial intelligence. Got a question, he's got an answer. You've got a problem, he's got a solution. He claims he has made a breakthrough in neural net technology. He sets up systems to run railways, manage companies. Say you're a dictator, don't want to run the country, just get drunk, who do you trust to run the place for you without finding yourself locked in your bedroom one morning? Mr. Fishman. He's running entire islands in the pacific." 

"And zombies?"

"Wolfram and Hart was working on a merger between two mega-corps a while back, but somebody who didn't want it to happen killed off one of the key executives. Deals off, W&H doesn't get paid. So we got Clarke to re-animate the guy for a week or so until the deal got closed. Did a nice job."

"I imagine ordering lunch was a bit tricky?"

"Nope. He ate salad. The guy was totally functional, just as brilliant, actually a bit easier to deal with than when he was alive. With a bit of cell phone technology, the guy's body was being run out of Spavey's compound. Oh, and he doesn't like the word 'zombie', prefers 'avatar' god knows why."

"How was the handshake?"

"A bit clammy. OK, we turn here."

We found a gravel road running alongside a ridge hiding the road from the Spavey compound, and I parked on the far side and started to approach, walking along behind the ridge. We went back toward the main road and when we got to where I figured we were closest to the freezer, I started up. The whole ridge was overgrown with trees, not planted but just growing wild. We pushed through the thicket, coming out the other side and stopping at a wooden rail fence where I could see over the whole compound. I was looking for a large building, probably just a big box, with AC units and power feeds, but there was nothing there that fit that description. There was what looked like the main house, with a few nearby sheds, plus a barn and a cement pad nearby with a dead tractor on it. The place was an old farm, but there weren't any crops in the field or any animals that I could see. The barn looked like it leaked. There were only two visible additions made since Spavey bought the place. The second newest thing was the miscellaneous collection of stone walls, hurricane fence, and cement slabs that surrounded the place, turning it into a recluse's fortress. The newest thing was the small shed with a cell tower sticking out of the roof. Cables led to the main house.

Lorne indicated a small shed near to the house as being the freezer. We started down the ridge and walked over to it, climbing over broken fences, wading through weeds and trying not to step on rakes. The freezer was empty, but there was a fork lift parked on the far side, and a path indicated trips made between the freezer and a metal plate, probably a cellar door, behind the house. We followed the path and stood on the plate and looked at the wall. There was a red button there. I looked at Lorne and he looked at me. I shrugged and pushed the button. The plate descended, lowering us down into the basement.

"I think this is as far as we can push the lost traveler story, don't you?" I asked Lorne.

"Probably." Lorne agreed, then shouted "IS ANYBODY HERE?"

There was no answer to that shout so we made a bunch more noise and waited to see if anybody would come and see. After a few minutes of total silence, Lorne said "Nobody home." and we started to explore. What we should have done was go back to find the fork lift and knock over the cell tower, but then again, if we had, some things might not have turned out as well as they did, and anyway, we didn't. 

I started to explore the basement while Lorne started up the stairs to explore the upper house. I could hear him wandering from room to room above me as I looked. Nearby was a workbench that occupied the whole end of the cellar nearest the elevator and was made deep enough and strong enough to easily hold a body. Beyond was the usual black altar and a well stocked cabinet of spell ingredients. The containers were large and the levels were low so he must be using the stuff on a regular basis. A bookcase held a few books, and some tools that he really ought to have put away. Possibly he couldn't find a place for them. Then a window, small and high up on the wall, a water heater, shelves with crap on them, washing machine, dryer, more shelves with the usual crap, paint cans, couple of cases of beer, and the stairs up. Under the stairs, a closet. I opened it.

Lorne came down from upstairs. He had apparently found little beyond the usual. Spavey owned lots of books, mostly reference works on a variety of subjects, on magic, and computers, on business and law and weapons and history and myth. His home computer was password protected and the password wasn't '5pv3y' or 'F1shmn'.

"Did you try 'Z0mbi3'?" I asked. He hadn't.

I showed him the closet.

"You know, " Lorne observed, "one thing you don't often see in a basement is stairs down."

**TBC**

**AN: **If you are _Speed Racer_ challenged, there's a link in my profile for basic character info.

**37-40**


End file.
